


Champagne Bubbles in a Thin-Stemmed Glass

by mitslits



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy looks at him, really looks at him, for the first time that night. He has bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a week and his brow seems to be stuck in a permanent frown. It’s easy to forget sometimes, how close Harry and Merlin were. After a brief moment of silence he holds his glass out towards him. “To Harry,” he says.</p><p>With a quick glance over at him Merlin taps the rim of his glass against Eggsy’s. “To Harry.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne Bubbles in a Thin-Stemmed Glass

Eggsy wants to get drunk and he wants to get drunk right now. He doesn’t want to be here, in this room full of too-bright lights and muted conversation. He can feel the piteous glances thrown his way, the down-turned mouths and sympathetic eyes crashing against the hunch of his back. He doesn’t need them and he certainly doesn’t need their pity. Doesn’t know half of them anyways, so it’s not like they’re any great comfort. 

If Roxy was here, he thinks, things would be better. She, at least, would know he doesn’t need honeyed words to get through this hell of a night. And it has been one hellish experience. 

Closed-casket because they don’t have a body. A surprising amount of non-Kingsman members whom Eggsy assumes are the family he never met.

He doesn’t make any effort to meet them now; it’s not like they would know who he was anyways. For fuck’s sake, _he_ hardly knows who he was to Harry. It hardly matters now; he’s never going to be anything more than he was. 

“Eggsy,” says a voice at his elbow and Eggsy turns to find Merlin looking at him, eyes harder than anyone else’s he’s had to meet. He’s grateful for it. If he hears one more condolence he thinks he’s going to go out of his mind. “Come with me.” 

Unsure as to where they’re going, Eggsy hesitantly slides out of his chair, trails after him because he might as well. It’s not like there’s a lot to be found in the sea of black surrounding him. They make their way through the press of the crowd and he endures a few more pats on the shoulder, a couple more murmured ‘I’m sorrys’ that he brushes off with a tight nod. The only person who can really apologize is the one whose funeral they’re attending, anyways. Their words are meaningless. 

When they’ve finally made it out of the building Merlin takes him to his car, opens the trunk to tug out a bottle of champagne and two glasses which he shoves over to Eggsy. 

Slightly started by their sudden appearance, Eggsy finds his arms full of glass and champagne before he can say anything, the boot of the car slamming closed soon after. Merlin clambers up to the roof of the car, reaching down for the supplies. Not any less confused than he was two minutes ago, Eggsy hands them up wordlessly, following him onto the roof when the magician beckons him up. 

“Merlin?” he asks as the man in question works the cork out of the bottle. When he receives a grunt of acknowledgement he presses on. “What are we doin’ out here?”

Merlin doesn’t pause, just pops the bottle open and gestures for Eggsy to hold out the glasses. Obediently, he does so, watching the fizz bubble up. Once Merlin has set the bottle off to one side he takes the proffered flute, sighing. “You looked like you needed to get out of there,” he says with a shrug. “And, to be completely honest, I could use a drink myself.” 

Eggsy looks at him, really looks at him, for the first time that night. He has bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a week and his brow seems to be stuck in a permanent frown. It’s easy to forget sometimes, how close Harry and Merlin were. After a brief moment of silence he holds his glass out towards him. “To Harry,” he says. 

With a quick glance over at him Merlin taps the rim of his glass against Eggsy’s. “To Harry.” 

-

Roxy is the first to pull him into a hug. She’s the first to congratulate him. And she’s the first person to call him by his new name. “How’s it feel?” she asks, pulling back and holding him at arms length, head tilted slightly to the side. “Being Galahad?” There’s a not-quite smile on her face, tinged with solemnity as the occasion is and the memories connected to his handle. 

Eggsy just shrugs. “Ain’t much different than not bein’ him, really,” he admits. He’s been working at Kingsman for the past month anyways, only remaining unofficially knighted while the agency worked on naming a new Arthur. 

Most of the other Knights had already been calling him Galahad besides, there not being much question that he would assume the position of his old mentor. 

Nodding, Roxy pulls him in for another quick hug. “Well, congratulations anyways,” she says, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll ask again when I get back. Maybe things will have changed.” With that she’s gone, walking off and waving over her shoulder. 

Eggsy returns her wave, the slight twinge of worry that always sweeps over him when she goes of on a mission rushing through him. He doesn’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to the people he loves going off on Kingsman business and one day he’s terrified his bad luck will reassert itself.

“Welcome to Kingsman, Galahad.” 

Turning, Eggsy finds Merlin standing behind him, ever-present clipboard in hand. 

“Merlin,” he says with a nod and a small smile. The man seems to have made him his personal project, in what he suspects is Harry’s honor. He’s been his handler on every mission and Eggsy’s trust for him and in him has grown exponentially in the past weeks. 

With a jerk of his head indicating Eggsy should follow him, Merlin turns and begins striding down the corridor. He doesn’t look back to check if Eggsy’s followed him, but he doesn’t have to. The newest Knight is indeed wandering after him, hands in his pockets, eyes drifting a little lower downwards than they otherwise might have had it been anyone else in front of him. 

To Eggsy’s slight surprise they seem to be headed to Merlin’s office. It’s a rare occasion when anyone other than the magician is allowed inside and he almost wants to hold his breath as he steps over the threshold as if he’ll be berated for sneaking into places where he doesn’t belong. But Merlin doesn’t say anything other than, “Have a seat,” nodding towards a rather plush-looking chair. 

Eggsy sinks back into it, tracking him around the room as he gathers up a pair of glasses, setting them over on his desk before seating himself in his own chair, much more high-backed and severe than Eggsy’s own. He digs out a bottle of champagne. 

“You just carry those around everywhere?” Eggsy teases, smirking over at him. 

Merlin arches an eyebrow, working the cork out with a pop and tossing it over to the wastebin. They finished off the last bottle they shared, after all. “Is that a complaint?”

Eggsy shakes his head with a light laugh. “Nah, bruv, just think it’s a bit strange is all.” 

“It’s come in handy,” Merlin says, measuring out two glasses and sliding one over Eggsy’s way. He raises his own, holding it forwards. “To our newest Galahad and his continued success,” he toasts. 

Eggsy leans forward, clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.” 

-

The cool air is a welcome relief from the hot press of bodies in the rest of the building. Tuxes, Eggsy thinks, are not the ideal outfit when one wants to stay cool. But all of Kingsman’s affairs are black tie and their New Year’s celebration proves no exception. 

He’s managed to disengage himself from Bors and Percival long enough to slip out to the balcony, into the darkness of the freshly fallen evening. He leans against the railing and sighs, head slumping forwards slightly, eyes drooping half-closed. He’s not had a chance to really catch up on sleep since his last mission ended the day before and there’s no way this party is ending until one at the earliest. The new year must be welcomed even by spies, apparently. 

Suddenly there’s an elbow poking at his side and he looks up to find Merlin standing next to him, dressed to the nines and holding two flutes of champagne. 

Grinning tiredly, Eggsy accepts one. “Didn’t even have to produce a bottle out of nowhere this time, did you?” he asks, raising it to his lips and taking an appreciative sip. 

Merlin just gives him a wry smile and rests his elbows on the railing, looking out over the grounds. 

Eggsy settles in beside him but he’s looking more at him than the well-manicured lawns and hedges he’s been surveying the past few minutes. He has to admit, he cuts quite the figure in long, black coattails and a crisp, white shirt. Enough of a figure to make him feel his heartbeat in his throat and fingertips that suddenly want to reach out and touch him, run over his face, memorize the lines there. 

His hand is just drifting away from his side, the traitor, when he’s yanked out those thoughts by the sudden roar of voices. 

“Ten! Nine!” 

The countdown to midnight. It pulls Merlin out of whatever reverie he’s fallen into himself and he glances over at Eggsy, one eyebrow edging upwards. 

“Eight! Seven!” 

Eggsy knows the tradition. There’s no one else on the balcony. 

“Six! Five!” 

He doesn’t even have the champagne as an excuse, has finished the glass. Not that he really wants an excuse. 

“Four! Three!” 

Merlin sets his own glass down, turns to face Eggsy and he thinks ‘maybe.’ 

“Two!”

He takes a half-step closer, doesn’t even realize it. Merlin’s hand slides around to the small of his back. _That_ he notices.

“One!” 

The rest of the Knights erupt into cheers behind them but Eggsy can hardly hear it through the rush of blood in his ears as Merlin leans in. Their lips meet and his body curves into Merlin’s, tongue sliding out to trace his lips. The kiss tastes like champagne.  


End file.
